Somewhere in the Darkness
by resu'nik
Summary: [Rokutousei Supika] Yazaki and his Spica. BL?


**Fandom **: Rokutousei Supika

**Genre**: General/Romantic

**Rating**: G… probably.

**Author Notes**: _I am so damn proud to be the author of the VERY first English Supika fanfic. Really, I am. Somehow I managed to avoid turning this into a parody or having anything humorous in this at all... That's an accomplishment, since I'd pause and snicker wildly to myself while writing it... and since I'm prone to turning just about everything I touch into crack. Since this is an almost non-existent fandom, I might as well explain a bit._ First, the narrator's name is Yazaki. He's so damn sexy. Um, I mean... so Yazaki goes to a school that teacher Astrology and Astronomy (Basically, magic) in which the students control one of the three different symbols. A moon, a star, or a sun. Yazaki and the main character, Supika, both control Spica, a star. Yazaki's is about as big as himself while Supika's is pixie sized (the size varies according to power). Yazaki is, however, in the lowest rank - and when you stay in the sixth rank long enough your star fades away and dies. To prevent this (He REALLY likes his Spica...) he pretty much attacks the school faculty in order to show them his power and get them to promote his rank - he gets caught and his Spica is taken from him (several times, since he has a tendency to break in and take it back...) and blah blah blah. **Point is**; Yazaki is narrator, he's not in best of health, he lives alone, and he, as I said earlier, _REALLY_ likes his Spica. And the gender of said Spica I'm guessing to be male.

Thus I wrote this.

It happens to be my first, last, and only attempt at a pure romantic one shot.

_Enjoy it while you can_.

**Somewhere in the Darkness  
**

The feeling of his fingertips lightly on my skin as I doze. He's there when my eyes are heavy and my arms grow weak and my chest can't expand enough to catch the breath I need - not quite. He comforts me when others won't, when others can't, when others are far, far away and I know that that is how it should be and how I want it to be and how I've come to expect it.

I'm only barely asleep - in limbo, between the waking and the dreaming, that special time when I'm not quite sure what's happening... it's like being wrapped up in something so soft it's barely tangible and so warm it leaves me defenseless, boneless.

And-

And where his fingers touch down, that's where the limbo skirts; avoids; shuns. His touch (curious, feathery, dream-like in its own way) both lure me into the world and lull me back into my dreams, a contrast that clashed, and blended, and melted together in a furious whirl of conflict, remaining still and frozen and protective...

I breath out, breath out all the air I hold in my lungs, let it all go - then pause - and when I feel it (I can't see - I can't see, but I know) it's blurry and distorted like a slight ripple under water. I suck in, filling myself back up - it's almost like I b breath in the air he releases, oxygen he gives me personally, like it's special. It's warm, and smells faintly of him, though he's not supposed to have a scent. It's a presence and it fills my lungs.

His hair (so long, so dark) falls forward, I can feel it, and it pools around me, mingles with my own strands of light, such a contrast to his dark (I am the paper, he is the ink) and slides like something unreal over my skin, flitting, skiving over my face and tickling, just a little.

Just a little.

And.

If I open my eyes now I know his face will be hovering over mine, he'll be above me, (dark, darker than the shadows that he contends with at night) and his intense, gentle, deep, beautiful, _loving _ eyes will be looking into mine... but I don't have the energy. It's gone, fled, abandoned me. His name is on my lips, on my tongue, in my brain and in my lungs... but I can't say it. My chest has an invisible weight on it and can't gather the willpower to overcome it. So I remain silent, with his name and his face in my mind and his adulation in his fingers (fingers on me, traversing my arms, a digit tucking itself into the crook of my elbow, dancing on the sensitive skin, moving, moving, wonderful) and his...

Lips on mine.

And this time the verve does not escape me and this time my willpower flares, brightly, and I defeat it, the weakness that consumes me, and an energy that I refuse to let bleed off into no where consumes me, and I _use_ it.

I kiss him back; say his name, very, very softly.

"Spica."

Twining fingers, mingling hair, and lips meeting softly and slowly and genuinely and that is all that is left now, right now, with him, my star (he burns darkly but fiercely and reassuringly and lovingly) and myself.

_I won't let you fade.  
_

**End**

If you didn't understand what was going on, it's because I suck that much… and because maybe you didn't read the courtesy of a short summary in that monster of a note at the top. :) Have a nice day. I'm going to trundle off and write some more humor.


End file.
